Shot At The Night
by Lilith Kisaragi
Summary: In which basically Jean is too dumb to guess that Marco is totally in love with him and in which Marco is just made of cotton-candy and Jean has the social skills of a sponge. JeanMarco one-shot, shonen-ai, fluff and a little angst in between lines. 2 years before Trost's attack. Gift fic for TotemundTabu


For my dearest friend Bicci, who kind of likes this pair -I guess not as much as I do but, oh well (?)- and I owed her a birthday present worth it. For her and all she does for me, almost day by day, and who gave me strength to believe in myself and what I do. For her from the heart, and for you, reader, too, who gave it a shot.

Title from the fic taken from The Killer's song "Shot At The Night", probably the song I'd consider to be the soundtrack to this fic, for being just as cute as them.

Written right in English, which is not my first language, so sorry for any mistake that I could have made. If you spot any, just PM me and tell me!

* * *

It was reciprocal, the unique way they saw each other, and they somehow guessed that even before any of them voiced it out loud. They needn't words, as acts spoke for themselves. After all, it was just written in their eyes when one of them looked at the other, could be read in the subtle yet efficient combination they made, in and out the fighting. And they knew since the very first day, as if such a chemistry could be guessed beforehand, _smelled_ out.

Both shared the same, logical and sensible dream of joining the Military Police. Although the reasons differed, both were human enough to mark keep on living as their priority, even in such a cruel and hazardous world they were put to live in. So they had no problem in working together for that to be true eventually. Marco could buoy Jean up every time he needed to. Jean could give Marco a hand every time he asked for it. And, as time went by, in those long, hard days of never-ending training, the words started to get higher and higher, as they started as mere workmates then colleagues, then friends, then closest friends. Until, in an unnoticeable way, they became the other's confidante.

But, clearly, nothing more than that.

"Thinking again about Mikasa?"

The sudden sound of his voice made Jean shudder from head to toes. He turned, maybe his cheeks blushed or maybe not, and simply muttered:

"Shut up, you. I was not thinking about her."

And he laughed as he sat in front of him, then again making it too hard to just maintain the pissed up face.

"Sorry, sorry! It was just that you had that kind of expression you usually put when she gets close to you."

Oh. Well, he _might_ be blushed right in that moment.

"Yeah… Sure…" he mumbled, looking away, avoiding by all matter such sincere eyes "Then again wh-what's wrong with that? I mean, what if I do? It's just the normal thing, to like a girl…"

He took a brief moment to reply, just the moment Jean needed to swallow hard and try to rearrange his mind in order not to think about the relation between what he was thinking about and the visage that Marco had seen.

"Nothing at all" he shrugged, not letting the smile out his lips "But you look like a different person when you look at her, as if you actually…" and he stopped.

"As if I actually…" Jean repeated, waiting for the end of that sentence.

But Marco was not even looking at him. He had his eyes fixated on the ceiling of the room, as if there was, or there _could_ _be_ anything interesting up there (besides spider webs and mouldy wood). And what on earth could he be thinking right now would become, once more, a mystery unresolved in Jean's so practical mind. It was a kind of ritual to have a guess about what would be passing through his friend's mind when he was spacing out, then saying it loud, so the dark-haired could tell him if he was wrong or not. Well, just that he was _wrong_, because he never, ever got the answer right. And he had long ago discarded the idea of Marco being a dirty cheater in that game, as he had found that he had quite a hard time when telling lies, and, when he had no other chance but to do so, those lies never came out _believable_ enough. But he was too much of a thick-head to just admit his best friend was a closed book for him, and, even though he did embrace the mystery locked behind those dark, hazel eyes, he swore he won't rest in peace until he got a grasp of the inside of his too-sugared brains.

"Never mind" Marco whispered, softly, as he came down to earth, and looked at Jean peacefully.

"You don't even have to say it. It's always the same answer, Marco" Jean mumbled bitterly. The other one's confused face put him into the obligation of providing further explanation "I mean, you always say that I should not care about what are you actually thinking about, and neither can I guess what it is because I'm a total inept at that stuff. So, it's like I never truly understand you, but you _do_ in fact understand me even by just taking a glance at my face. And, you know "he pierced his eyes with his golden-brown ones "That's annoying. Tremendously annoying."

And, unexpectedly, that seemed to work on him, making him feel uneasy and guilty. Sending a hand to the back of his neck, he let out a short snort that sounded more like an undercover nervous laugh.

"Well… I was thinking that, you know, I actually never… " he took a pause, looking for the best choice of words to voice his mind "I actually never liked a _girl_. So, when you look at Mikasa…"

"Wait what?" Jean, astonished, had to stop him "You never _ever_ liked a girl?"

"A girl? No…"

"So you never had a girlfriend?" Marco's blush started to get noticeable as he shook his head as a response "You are joking, aren't you? That's just… nonsense."

"If you say so…"

"That's way too unbelievable! You look like, you know, that kind of guy that girls would get crazy for: protective, caring, sentimental and all that shit." all he was _not_, could be a good mental add-on to that last part "How come, then, you never had a girl?"

"The thing is that there were some girls that told me they liked me. But, as I told you, Jean: I never liked _a girl_." he sighted and looked away "And, please, let's change this topic, okay? I'm not really comfortable talking about this..."

Jean huffed but obediently did as he was told to. Someday he would guess what Marco meant to say with that.

Yeah, someday he would.

* * *

Jean had his head resting in the palm of his hand, as he looked, half bored half absorbed, at his friend taking off carefully his Three Dimensional Maneuver Gear and placing it besides his bed. He was always so thoughtful when treating his gear, taking care of it as it was almost a baby child. Unlike himself, he thought, as he remembered the so many times that he got scolded by the dark-haired for not treating it properly. So, as he was an adaptable human being, decided to change all those unnecessary reproaches by doing what was, probably, the most logical thing.

"Come here." he said, as he moved his head as a sign. Jean moved obediently, getting up from his bed and came closer to him, until they were face-to-face. Then Marco put his hands on his sides and started to undo all the parts of the harness that were holding up the gear on his front and legs, and took it properly.

As said, the most logical thing to do by far.

He sat down on his own bed and put the device on his legs and, taking a greased cloth, he started to clean it, as it was supposed to be done. As far as he could remember, at least.

"See, Jean? You have to oil this part of the grapple hooks." he turned the whole gear to make him see how he was doing "If you don't something could block the device and they could not work properly. Not the thing you would like to happen when fighting a Titan, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, that's why I'm letting _you_ take care of it." Jean simply answered, turning his back and waving his hand, as if the problem did not really had anything to do with him.

A big, long sight could be heard, as the dark haired continued his task of cleaning the equipment up. He was one of the very few that took time to do that every day, besides that blonde guy, Arlert. Responsible guys! He was clearly not the one to do that. And, as long as Marco was willing to take care about it for himself, why should he even worry?

Oh. That sounded quite arrogant and selfish…

"Hey." Marco raised his face to look at him "You know, you are always doing that for me, so I guess that… Thank you."

"That's nothing." he smiled back at him, warmly "I wouldn't do it if I didn't like it, would I?"

"You would do it, anyway." he simply shrugged, as the other let out a little nervous laugh "But still, I really need to give the favour back, somehow. I don't want to make you think I'm an asshole who can't appreciate the work others do for me"

Marco stopped his task and looked at Jean, then at the floor and then at Jean again.

"And, out of curiosity, have you thought about anything in special you can do for me?"

He hadn't. In fact, that question made him uncomfortable; because, well, he did not even had a clue about what could he do for his so-called friend. He had thought more than just once that he had to give him some kind of compensation, but just as a _concept_. He never thought truly about what would make the most proper way of paying Marco back all the little, yet lot of things he did to him on an everyday basis. What did he even like, besides having the equipment in perfect conditions?

God damn it, Jean, you are an actual asshole! Not knowing what does your best friend like or not…

Stop the nonsense whining and think about something, come on, there must be a thing!

"Tomorrow, in our free day… I was thinking about going back to Trost, to see how is everything is going." he started to mumble, crossing his arms "Maybe you could, you know, come with me, and we could do something fun there?"

And his eyes seemed to shine with that, as much as his innocent and pure smile, as he simply said:

"Yeah, sure!"

* * *

Trost was quite a big city, for the place it was built in. After all, it was now in the first line for when Titans attacked, and, despise the tall and solid wall that was supposed to protect it, everyone knew that its attack was more than just imminent, after the fall of Wall Maria. Still, people seemed to live their lives as if such thing could never happen. Or that's what looked like to Marco when he was walking through the streets that morning, trying to avoid as much as he could the people that were crossing the street, carrying the grain sacs, selling their goods, looking for what to buy to feed their families.

They seemed happy, he thought, looking at a mother's face as she walked with her two kids firmly gripped by their hands. Did she even know that anywhere, anytime, the Colossal Titan could appear and break the wall down? That anytime all she knew could disappear, torn to pieces as Titans started to destroy the city, to eat all the humans that crossed their path?

She did.

He knew she did. But she could not do anything but being brave and just keep holding on; to raise up her children trying to make them believe nothing would ever harm them, because she will always be there for them. After all, she could not do any other thing besides crossing her fingers and hoping for that thing to come, at least, the furthest from the time being, at least far enough for their children to be able to live by themselves.

And he felt proud, deep inside, that what he was doing in the Trainees Squad would help to protect people like her and her kids, to give them a reason to keep on smiling in such a hard world. To give them _hope_ to believe this could have an eventual end.

He looked at his left side, only to find Jean looking at him fixatedly. He replied to that gaze with a shake of his head. Jean frowned but he just kept walking. Could it be, somehow, that he had finally realized what was he thinking about? He laughed to himself with that mere thought. Impossible! He never did, and he was pretty sure that won't change this very moment.

After all, he was too dumb for this kind of stuff. He did not have this kind of empathy himself had by tons, and for him, the human mind was like an intricate maze of random thoughts and silly mumblings. Even the simplest stuff was hard for him to catch, as much as he could swear that probably it was hard for his friend to tell Ymir's crush on Christa, even Mikasa's on Eren. And it was not even like he considered himself to be like that kind of guy whose thoughts were that difficult to tell, as most of the time he was thinking about the very same thing, one way or another.

Yes, Jean was way too dumb to guess that what Marco was thinking about most of the times was, in fact, Jean himself.

"Have you even thought about were would you like to go?"

His voice took him out of his thoughts all of a sudden.

"Oh. I- " he looked back at him with this kind of still absent face "I really did not even thought about it, honestly. But, I mean, it's not like I care as long as…"

"Just stop the stupid I-really-do-not-care babble and say a goddamn place already" he blurted out. Marco opened his eyes abruptly and startled, a thing of pure instinct, he guessed, because it was easily replaced by his usual, perennial peaceful smile in no time.

Such a subtle way of telling him he wanted him to have the initiative to do a thing from time to time, right?

"I would really like to go to the library." he told him with a soft voice, adding then in a rush "If you do not mind, it is."

"Of course I do not mind." he muttered, looking away "And even if I did, it's your day and I couldn't do a thing but dealing up with that decision."

"Thank you." as simple as that, he stated, getting closer to him this time, much more safe now from the constant and overwhelming fear of rejection, thinking about nothing else but how cute he sounded when he tried to be nice to him.

"Stop it, goddamn, it's annoying." he mumbled through tightly gripped teeth, searching clumsily for his trousers' pockets once, twice until his hands could finally find them, walking a tad bit faster "And move your fat ass if you want to get to the library in time."

And Marco did as he was told to immediately. He took, though, a little time to reassure, as discretely as he could, that Jean was being a dramatist when he mentioned his butt.

* * *

They needed quite a fair amount of time to get to the library, considering what could have been if it had only been a trip accorded to the actual distance. Jean stopped from time to time to take a certain look at something, at someone, and explained to his friend all he knew about certain places in the town, a proud note in his voice that could not pass unnoticed. He just seemed to enjoy so much having someone that so gladly was willing to hear him babble about his hometown and coped with a jolly smile the never-ending tale of some of his childhood memories.

They were walking by one of the big gates when they noticed they were being opened, so they stopped to take a curious look. A deathly silence imposed abruptly, preceding the funereal procession that was entering the city. The corpses that were upon the wooden carriages wore their oh-so-well-known uniform, and their deplorable state —and in some of them also absence of limbs— was clearly the sign of a once again lost battle against the Titans. Marco could feel all his body shivering when a young woman came closer to the carriage letting out a broken, throbbing shrill, only to find out that one of those unlucky men among the bloody corpses was what probably used to be his lover, maybe his husband already. Marco instantly swung his head to look back at his friend through slightly glazed eyes and asked in the softest voice he could have _if he knew any of those_. And he simply bitterly replied _he didn't even want to know_, as he turned his head to avoid any further vision of such heart-breaking scene, depressing and discouraging foresight of what could be his own end. It hurt so much to see him like that, yet being unable to do a thing because he felt the same, and he could not find a single word to say that could just wipe away all the fear of ending up themselves in such a pitiful, inhuman way.

And it was an almost ironical thing that it was him, the one who could never tell what others thought about; him the tactless, harsh one of them two, the one who found the way to let him soothe all those insecurities at once. Because he took his hand as he kept on walking, he _took his hand _firmly as he got away from that grisly place and Marco could almost feel his heart pounding out his chest because he could never expect his friend to seek for _his_ strength in such circumstances just gripping his hand tight and because he had never guessed that hand would feel so warm and strong and now he forgot about what else was exactly going on, what he was thinking about or feeling like, everything disappeared suddenly in a blur, everything except his brand new permanent necessity of keeping that warm hand the closest to his as it could ever be.

Such a shame he let it go after a while, when someone looked at them holding hands with some really awkward face.

After that incident, it took just a couple of minutes to get, finally, to the library. It was a pretty discreet building and only the really old wooden sign would tell it apart the rest of nearby houses. That, and, of course, the delicious aroma of books that emanated from the inside. He could almost feel how that smell was guiding him in, as he started to get more and more absorbed into his own thoughts. Childhood memories, most of them, sailing free through his mind as he got inside the shop, his nose tasting the air he was breathing in. Everything smelt like aged paper and it couldn't be any better than that. He had always been an avid reader since he was a kid, finding in those silent friends his way out from the world, his warmest embraces when he felt lonely, his only way to have adventures far away those big, caging Walls. Those few books his father got to buy from time to time after spending a long, long time away from home were the only thing he could ever call a treasure. What had happened to those treasures was now a thing he did not even want to think about. Part of him knew they were, more than just probably, anywhere to be found, considering his mother never found in them something else than old-looking written papers. Marco tried to explain to her, more than just once, why she was so wrong about it, but he guessed it was hard for someone who could not read to understand that.

He did not even realize how he came inside the place, nor when he started walking along the bookshelves, his finger caressing the spines of those books as he passed by, his eyes flying from volume to volume, as he looked for something and anything in particular at the same time. Being there felt somehow so mesmerizing it looked more like a dream, one of those so vivid dreams you could only tell apart from truth because of how light your feet seemed to be. He stopped in his way a few times, taking one of those books with all the care of the world in his hands and glancing through it, enjoying the smell once again before he closed it and put it in its place once again. He couldn't tell how much time he spent just walking between the shelves, looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, because time always seems to slow down when written words where on the line, and they were so much words in that place it felt like time stood still for a moment. But it indeed seemed to run again when his eyes, almost shimmery, finally bumped into one specific book. He got on tiptoe —he was a tall guy, but that book was really high in the shelf— to take it and started a tiny, happy smile in his lips was formed when he opened it to take a look on the inside. For how long had he been finding this particular specimen? He did not even remembered how many, but having it in his own hands felt like a long-awaited prize for his patience. Ah, it was just like…

"I am still here, you know." he was so immersed in his reading his voice really took him by surprise, making him shiver from head to toe.

"Oh, sorry, Jean, I'm sorry, I am truly sorry!" he rushed to say his apologies. And he did actually felt really sorry, but he had to admit that, on the other hand, he could not take away from his mind the thought of how weird it felt to be so absorbed by something who was not his friend for once in a very, very long time.

"It's okay, it's okay." he said, putting his hands on his pockets in a lazy pose "You just looked so totally absorbed by those books that I thought you completely forgot about me or something like that. I guess it felt weird…"

"No, it's not like that!" it was just like that indeed "It's only that it has been really long since the last time I went to a library and… I really missed it" he looked at the place for a second, with a tender smile upon his lips and right after he looked back at those bright amber eyes "But it's not like I could forget you are there, Jean!"

"Yeah, whatever." he mumbled, looking away in a proud-looking pout that he could swear was adorned with a slight blush over the cheeks.

Gee, he looked just so cute like that… It was hard, so very hard to contain a little laugh or a cheeky comment that could make that blush more red and noticeable. Pinching them, maybe, they looked much softer like that. And, yeah, being all frank, he had to get hold of all his auto control not to jump on him and desperately kiss him all over the face: his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, and oh, those so-long-awaited lips of his. Oh goodness, Marco, honestly, stop the nonsense, sickly sweet blabbering, you are dreaming again too much, that's it's not ever going to happen because you know you don't even had the guts to do such a thing, do you? And plus, that's not even the point right now. The point is that…

"Huh? Is that a 3D Gear?"

"Eh? Ah! Yes, yes, of course it is!" he looked down at the same diagram Jean was pointing at before he carefully closed the book and showed him whole since the very beginning "You know, I've been looking for this for ages, I swear, I was just so happy to see it finally here. It's a manual of the device. Here it explains all of it by detail" he pointed at some pictures of the page he was in before he started turning more and more pages until the next stop, as if he knew where things were beforehand "It explains almost everything you need to know about it, like, well, about its maintenance, some different techniques when using it against in battle, even its fabrication and all the story behind … It has even extracts from Altonen's diary working on the prototype!

"Whose diary?"

"Angel Altonen." he didn't seem to know what he was talking about yet "You know, the one who created the 3D Gear…"

"Oh, yeah, _that dude_ we heard about a thousand billion times in class." Jean looked away and then back at him again "So, what's the difference between that book and what we studied in the Trainees Academy?"

"Quite a lot of stuff, actually. We just study the basic facts about our weapon, notions enough to know how to use it properly but clearly that's not enough to make us understand its full potential, not at this level of detail. And, come on, having the creator's data of its construction, isn't it just thrilling? It's like the diary of a person who changed the whole mankind's fate, a hero's own notes about his masterpiece." he took a really long, deep sigh "It really is much, much more than they could ever teach us, Jean."

"I see." he clearly didn't "Well, are you going to buy it or not?"

"What? Me, this?" he giggled, shaking his head "I would love to, but I can't."

"Why so?" he looked at him with a really puzzled expression.

"Well, I don't have much money right now. And it's a manual, those are even more expensive than books. Way too much for me!" he shrugged, wearing a smile that was just as fake as sad, as he closed that book. He let out a dejected breath and turned to put it back to its place, and then he started to walk out that place, resignedly. But he thought he would worry his friend or something, so he kept on talking randomly, trying to defuse the situation with a _never mind_ attitude that clearly did not fit him at all "Anyway, I may like it, yeah, but it's not such a big deal, we all want things we don't need. And, see, I shouldn't waste my money in things like this, you know? This money I should spend it in useful stuff. Now I remember, I still need to buy a can of oil for the device, I was starting to run out of it. And also I should buy paper to write a letter to mom and sister, it has been a pretty long time since the last time I sent them a letter. They are for sure worried about me, and who knows what is going through her minds. Nothing good for sure! Oh and I also completely forgot about that I also should… Jean?" he looked at both of his sides, looking for his friend, worriedly "Jean? Jean where are y-OUCH!" he whinged when something hit the back of his head all of a sudden. He turned around with a baffled look in his face that slowly turned into something that was more like disbelief and wonderment.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" he muttered, handling him the book he hit his head with, looking away wearing his pretty characteristic _I-am-not-blushing-you-asshole_ pout.

"Jean…"

"Consider this to be a present I owed you or something like that, okey?" he looked back at his friend, still a little blushy yet trying to look intimidating "And please and I say _please_, do _not_ dare to make a scene and do _not_ dare to try to return this favour or something like that, you heard me?"

Marco simply nodded as he took his book, his smile getting bigger and warmer as his eyes sparkled with illusion and the reflection caused by what seemed to be a tear, pushing that book against his chest, gripping it tightly, the closest to his heart it could be.

"Thank you so much, Jean." he told him with his happiest and sweetest voice, trying to hold back the tears and the desperate need to hug him and never let him go "This is…This is so going to be my new treasure!"

And Jean gabbled something as he turned his back to him and started walking out of that place, followed just seconds after by his exultant best friend.

* * *

The raindrops kept on tapping the windows in a somehow peaceful melody. That and the crackling sound of wood burning up slowly in the hearth. And Marco's calm and pacific breathing. Yeah, he meant it. After all, it was just like he could never be completely angry when he was close, because he just had this kind of soothing aura that melted any trace of anger until he was left with no more than "_whatevers_". And he started to guess, now he was sitting by his side at the fireplace, sharing the biggest and warmest blanket he found in the house, that it was probably a thing that started in the way he breathed. He seemed to be ordered even in that, taking time for each breath to find the very end of his lungs and letting in out slow through slightly opened lips, leaving this soft trace of sound behind.

He took the sight out from his parted lips to the steamed up window. It had gotten dark so early that day thank to those stupid dark clouds. And it all happened so fast! They had had just stepped out the library when the sky turned grey. And then, all of a sudden… BAM! It started raining, getting harder and harder up to the point it was hard to even see a thing. Yeah, thankfully he was in Trost and he was wise enough to take the house keys with him, but still that clearly didn't help them one bit not to end up soaking wet from head to toes. And he just hoped changing clothes as soon as he stepped in would made him avoid catching a bad cold, because he swore that was just the last thing he needed, a runny nose Jaeger could laugh at. Right now he felt pretty great, so, no matter how many times Marco told him, all red and panicky, that he_ shouldn't get undressed like that_, it was probably a great idea. Even his mother had kept some of his older clothes well folded in the wardrobe, so Marco and he had comfortable, well-fitting clothes for the night.

Talking about him —once again—, he had been in total silence since a long while ago. He couldn't help but have a brief look at the gift he bought for him and soon he got too absorbed into his reading to keep up a proper conversation. Gripping the blanket tight in his right hand over his shoulders, his left turned the pages of the book that was sitting over his crossed legs. That thing, it was really much more precious to him that what Jean could ever think it would be. After all, yeah, he _had_ to admit it: he mostly bought it to free himself from the guilt that he had felt earlier that day over all the things Marco did every day for him and he clearly took for granted. It was just a book, no matter how many times he looked at it, nothing much, but it made him so happy, unbelievably happy, too happy. So how could someone be so goddamnly happy over a single fucking book? And moreover, he kept on saying it was his treasure. At first it sounded like just another thing to say out of the thrill of the moment. But when they were getting home after the rainstorm he turned to his friend only to see the weird position he had been running in just to keep that book safe from water. And when he leant him afterwards a towel to dry himself, he used it first to wipe the water drops that managed to get to that book. So he had to believe, despite all his own reservations, that, somehow, such a thing could mean such a lot to someone such as him.

_Somehow_.

He took another sip at the drink that had been warming up his always cold hands, letting the hot liquid run down his throat. He thought that heating up the wine would be a good idea to have something to drink and to get himself warmed up at the same time. It did tasted better than expected, he must admit, taking another sip. Pretty good, in fact. But he didn't thought, at least at first, that wine meant alcohol and alcohol meant getting drunk. And having twice the amount he intended to have —since Marco firmly _refused_ having some, damn him and his decency— only raised up the probabilities. Up until now, which was almost half of the second cup, he felt pretty fine. Much warmer for sure, maybe just a little tipsy. So, everything was under control, yeah.

He let his head rest on his friend's shoulder, trying to get a better sight of the page he was reading. A sudden shudder made him fall off it.

"Marco!"

"Sorry!" he replied, immediately, looking at him with some sort of puppy eyes "I was so absorbed and you kind of scared me…"

"Tsk! I just wanted to see what were you reading, only that." he grumbled, looking away, turning his head the position it was placed before.

"Oh, never mind." he looked down and then back at him, smiling softly as he closed the book and put it aside.

"Hey! I didn't mean to-!"

"Don't worry. I was starting to get rude, wasn't I?" he interrupted him, making that smile a tad bid wider "And, anyway, you are far more interesting than any book, Jean."

_Thump_, _thump_.

"_Hey, heart, how come you got so lively right now_?"

"Y-yeah, well… Of course I am I mean…" he mumbled, incoherently, suddenly unable to even bear that joyful face of his, his ever shiny brown eyes, his _whole being_ that seemed to be made of kindness and love and sugar and rainbows and kittens.

"You mean you are no other than _Jean Kirstein_ himself, of course! What on earth can be more interesting than you?"

Cunning. Marco being plain cunning, using a sentence he himself used to say anytime he could in his haughtiest days, particularly if those days implied a fight with Jaeger. Hard to believe it was not even consequence of having had drunk a cup of warm wine.

"You just stated the obvious." it was the only thing he could come up for a comeback such as that one. Lame, yeah, but he didn't feel like thinking that night, and much less he felt like ruining his best friend's probable first time being sly to another human being with a fantastic reply that would make that one look like shit. Yeah. That was it, he thought as he guzzled the rest of the wine and put the cup away.

Jean, you fantastic human being, you _so_ deserve an award or something.

"But anyway," he continued, after tasting the sweetness the wine left in his palate once more, daring to look back once again at him "I don't want to make myself look like an asshole. You are pretty interesting too. Not as much as me, you know, but far, far more interesting that the average people. Which, trust me, means a lot."

He laughed for a while at that.

"Whoah, thank you, I am honestly flattered."

"I truly mean it."

"Yeah, but still, thank you. It's nice hearing that kind of things from time to time."

"Well I'm not prone…"

"…To say nice stuff because most people are assholes and won't appreciate it and they aren't even worth any nice words anyway" he finished the line he was about to say, giggling right after "I know, Jean. That's exactly why I appreciate those words much more if they come from you. They make me feel special to you."

He smiled softly as the other gulped. He knew him so well. And then again, his mind decided to put that line together with "and you almost know nothing about him". He wished it to be somewhat a lie, but no way, that was true. As it was the feeling he was closer to a shit than a normal person right then. Sometimes, in those few moments he decided to think about stuff coldly, he thought that probably he was not worth Marco's friendship. That he had always been alone because, fuck, he _deserved_ to be alone because of how tactless and uninterested he was with other people. Back then he was alone but he didn't mind it that much, knowing that was better than pretending to care for those he despised. But now he had someone, someone who he willingly chose, among all the others trainees, to be a friend. Someone who had a certain something that made him truly differ from the rest, and he was glad that he seemed the only one to notice such a thing because that person, out of all the rest of the trainees, probably out of all the rest of _humanity_, understood him. Marco understood Jean in a way no-one else ever did before. And fuck, for the first time he deeply cared about someone else and wanted to have him by his side by any means. He couldn't let him go, he just couldn't

"Marco," he called him, softly, a tiny note of guilt in his voice he tried to make disappear by coughing a couple times "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course." he nodded a couple of times.

"How do you do to know so much about me?" the question totally took him by surprise, judging by his looks. He didn't answer so Jean insisted once more "I mean, I want to know what do you do. If you have a trick or something or I'm just…"

"I don't." he let out in a rush.

"You don't what?"

"I don't have a trick. I don't have a way to do. It doesn't work that way, Jean."

Letting out a big sigh, he looked away. "That means I'm just plain thoughtless, right?"

"No, I don't mean to say that. I'm just trying to say I don't do anything special to know about you." he tried to explain, pretty much worried for if he had hurt his feelings.

"It's not just about me. You are considerate with fucking everybody. Know what and when and who to say everything you say."

"But I-"

"And when it comes to me it turns to be some sort of magic or something because like you know what happened to me to have such an angry face, you know what my whispers mean, you know when I need a hug and also when I need a slap in my face, you know my exact thought anytime you look at me." he interrupted him with a voice that got annoyed in crescendo, out of the awareness of his own incompetence.

A sudden silence.

"Jean"

"No, Marco, listen…"

"No, Jean, listen to me first" he almost ordered, taking hold of the other one's wrist "I do. Don't ask me how or why, I do. But believe me if I do it's just because it's you and because I care about you so much it's…" he bite his lower lip for a while and then relaxed and continued with a much softer voice "You are my best friend, Jean. It's my duty as a friend to care about you. And my only way is doing this."

"Then what is _my_ duty with you, huh? What can I do for you? Damn it, I would have had no clue of what book should I buy you if you didn't told me yourself, I had no clue earlier today of what kind of thing would you want as a favour, what else do you need as proof of my social ineptitude? I truly want to know about you the way you know me, how hard is that to understand, Marco?"

"Then ask me!" he cried suddenly, begging with his eyes fixed on his friend's ones "Don't try to be something you are not, I do not want you to do such a thing. If you can't guess by yourself, then ask me and I'll tell you. I promise."

He felt Marco's hand gripping tighter his wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep himself focused on the grip. It was hard to keep the stare right onto his, but at the same time his gaze was comfortingly tranquil, so he just stared back, feeling calmer and calmer until a long, deep breath served as the final sign of achieved serenity. Then he felt the hand releasing him slowly and he had to fight back the need of telling him to put the hand right back where it was.

"So then," he muttered, looking sheepishly at his eyes "I can ask you anything I want to know about you?"

"You can." he nodded slowly, making the smile a tad bit warmer.

"Then talk me about you. Tell me about yourself."

"Me?" he looked confused at first, scratching the side of his head with a finger, but then started to talk "Well, I am Marco Bott, from a town in the southern part of Wall Rose called Jinae. I'm turning sixteen the sixteenth of June and people often call me 'freckle boy' because I have freckles _all over_ my body"

"What?" he squinted his eyes "I am not _that_ fucking dense, Marco."

"I know you aren't, but you asked me and I couldn't help it!" he laughed softly and then poked his arm "Just ask me something I can actually answer to."

He thought this time for a long time, pondering about a question he always wanted to know about his friend yet still could never manage to guess by himself. Hard to choose because there were _so fucking many_. What was his favourite food? How many friends he had back in Jinae? Who couldn't he stand? How could he stand Jaeger? What would he do if they managed to defeat the Titans? What was the name of the song he hummed from time to time? What did he like the most about himself? And the least? What was his favourite animal? Had he ever had a girlfriend? Why did he always take so seriously the cleaning of the gear? How did he managed to be smiling all the time? Did he even know he was a good-for-nothing?

But then he thought about the perfect thing to ask him about, one that could show the dark, unknown, egoist side of him.

"What is your truly purpose for joining the Military Police Brigade?"

He took a moment to say a word, do a thing. He smiled, proud at his own guile, as the dark-haired let out a nervous laugh and looked away, hand at his nape.

"I guess serving the King is not reason enough for you, right?" Jean shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, as he waited for his long awaited reply to come. Marco, on his behalf, took a deep breath before he started to tell him:

"As I told you, I was born in Jinae, right? Well, I come from a pretty modest family. We were four: father, mother, my little sister Lena and I. Mother and I used to work in the fields while father was part of the Stationary Guard. He used to come home only once a week, as he had to work on a part of the Wall that was kind of far from the town and he even did some extra jobs to bring home some more money. It was a hard and dull life, working every day from dawn to sunset for just a little money. But even if it was tiring and boring, we couldn't complain, as we had a peaceful life. And I could always use the books father bought me to isolate myself from such a life."

He took a pause, looking at the ceiling, totally absorbed. Jean did not even dare to breath, just in case that would make him stop telling his story. But, after this little break, he continued, his eyes still fixed on some point up there.

"One day, some terrible news spread all over Jinae. One enormous Titan broke Wall Maria at Shingashina District. Everyone panicked. I can still remember all the screams and cries that crossed the town during the night. I was aware of what the Titans where, father told me, but back then I could not still get a grasp of what exactly that thing could mean. Mother was scared, she was truly scared, but she did all she could to stay strong so Lena wouldn't tell. But father…" he swallowed "Father was the one who was terrified the most. Probably because he was the only one was who was truly aware of the weight of the situation. He had an argument with mother that night. One big, long argument I could listen to even in our bedroom. He felt like he would do nothing if he stayed at the Walls, and he wanted to fight Titans. Mother told him he was crazy, that he would just be live bait for those things. But he didn't listen. He entered our room, kissed Lena's forehead and then mine, and left home, heading up to Shingashina"

"Marco…"

"It was just a few days after when someone brought his dead body home. Up that corpse carriage was my father, among all the others. He came back home without any glory, with no one remembering his name and telling others of how brave he was or how he stood his ground in the fight. Mother was right, right in all she said: all he did was serve as bait. He left home to fight Titans and didn't even make it past a couple of days. We had to bear with his death, we had to bear with our lives without his sustenance, but the worse was that we had to tell Lena. She was just six years old…"

A hand flew into his face and slowly slipped down to his mouth, his eyes now fixed at the flames of the fireplace, crystalline shimmers at the corners. Jean held his arm and stared at him with pure concern in his face.

"Marco, it's enough, I'm sorry for asking such a thing"

"Jean" he simply called him, as he stared back at him with the saddest smile one could ever have "You asked me why I want to enter the Military Police, right? That's why. It's not because I'm scared of Titans. It's not because I want to be saved on the inside. It's because if I manage to get in I would be able to bring them with me inside. I want mother to be happy again. I want Lena to live aside this nightmare. I want to live on and show them I'm worth Michael Bott's name."

And right the instant his voice broke and he was about to burst in tears, he pulled him towards himself and embraced him the tightest he could, a hand gripping his nape and placing his face against his chest. Marco sobbed, as quietly as he could, his hands clinging at the other's back.

He couldn't help but feeling once again like the shittiest person alive. He wanted him to have a simple, discreet answer. "I want to be saved". That was what he planned to hear. Something that himself could say if they asked the same questions. He wanted to live, just to live, and he thought his friend would also have such a selfish thought. He couldn't say anything but "I seek safety and a good life in the inside", no. No, he is Marco-_I'm_-_a_-_fucking_-_angel_-Bott, all heroic and good and honourable and he must tell him with a heart-breaking story and the most noble of the purposes to be in the inside Walls.

"Marco… Marco… God you are the greatest person in this entire planet I swear." he murmured to him, as harsh as soft, as he caressed his hair anxiously.

His hands gripped the shirt's cloth at his back even tighter as he let out a sudden whimper, and Jean did not even took time to have a thought before he kissed his forehead protectively. They stood that way for a short while, the one he needed to calm down and breathe properly.

"Jean, sorry, I didn't want to-"

"Shut the fuck up." he blurted out, out of distress more than actual annoyance "I am the only one who must say sorry. I am just the worst friend ever."

"No you are not." he raised his head to look at him "You just asked me, and this was your answer."

"I shouldn't have asked such a thing. Why didn't I ask for something else? I mean I thought a bazillion things and I managed to ask the only one that could bring you to tears. I just suck at people."

"It's not your fault, Jean."

"Why hadn't I asked you what is your favourite smell? Who you like? What your dream is?"

"Hey, Jean." he whispered, once again all smiley as he wiped away the tears at the corners of his eyes "Do you want to know what my dream is?"

He blinked twice before he nodded his head.

"Having wings. Like having wings and being able to fly away, far away this place and be able to look at the world outside the Walls. Be as free as a bird. Flying up in the sky. Having wings of freedom"

"Sure." Jean replied with a soft chuckle "The angel wants to have wings. How cute is that?"

"Huh? Je-Jean? What do you mean with angel?"

"You know, those kind of beings with infinite kindness, innocence and beauty."

What did he just say? Beauty? Oh he clearly didn't mean to say that… or did he?

Marco went suddenly all red and flustered and Jean could not help but making that last question even harder to answer. He was just so unbearably adorable like that. And he found himself to be mesmerized by the look of his lips. They were soft, sure they were by its looks. And full. And kissable.

And he could blame the wine later so he didn't even think twice when he gripped a few strands of dark hair at his nape to keep his head in place as he moved towards those lips with closed eyes.

The first thing he thought was that they were just as soft as they looked like. The second, just instants later, was that he maybe had made the worst mistake in his life since Marco's body had tensed up. The third was that retreating could maybe fix anything. The fourth, that it was too late for that: Marco's lips had caught his.

It started as mere touches, one lip against the other, then turning into a proper kiss. He found that Marco had more ability in kissing than he did. He seemed eager as he gripped and sucked his bottom lip, his hands now at the side of Jean's head, fingers entangled with strands of ash blonde hair. Of course he was not in the mood of looking like the inexperienced one here, so he sent his tongue to explore the insides of his mouth the moment he left it half opened to look for a little breath. His tip moved along the line of Marco's teeth and got a little further to caress the palate. That made the dark haired let out a soft moan that made him feel butterflies in the stomach and tightness in his trousers. The craziest side of him sent the tongue back for more of that pleasant sound, but Marco was faster as he intertwined both tongues together. He tilted the head a little to make the kiss deeper as they licked and pressed and grabbed and moved their tongues one against the other, against their mouths, looking for a little more action, a little more feeling, a little more of such a sweet sound. Jean placed his hands at his hips and pushed him until they were both on the floor, him upon Marco.

They only broke the kiss when they were out of breath, and they didn't need much time to start another, that ended up with Marco's hands at Jean's neck, and Jean's lips all over Marco's face as he called out for his breath once again. After a moment of slowed down action, deep sights and two or three short kisses, they opened their eyes once again to meet the other ones. No talking, no moving. Just their chests raising up and down as they breathed and their eyes looking for something further the pupils. One of Marco's hands moved from his neck to his cheek, caressing it tenderly.

"Jean… Can I ask this time something to you?"

"It kind of scares me to know there's a thing you can't guess by just looking at me, but, well, of course you can."

"You… I mean, this is not a dream, right? You called me angel and kissed me?"

"Blame the wine." he shrugged "But yes, I did."

"God bless that wine then. I have been longing for you since ages."

"What? You… You liked me?"

"Jean I swear it's not even possible to be _so dense._"

"No, hey, I'm not that dense is just that… Hang on, you liked me all this time you said?"

He started laughing as his friend tried to talk back saying that it wasn't for sure that easy to guess such a thing, until both of them shut up when his foreheads meet once more thanks to Marco's hands pulling his face closer to his again.

"Jean, Jean… Stupid, stupid Jean, who couldn't tell the stupider Marco fell just head over heels for him…"

"Shut up, you. I told you I suck at people."

"You do. But still I like you like that."

"Why?"

"Why? Jean, you just can't ask people why they like other people!"

"But I want to know! I would never tell and you know so? Why me?"

"Because I don't care what people think you are. To me, you are the greatest person I've ever met, Jean. The most noble, and sensible and strong-willed person. A leader for those who lost faith, a friend to those who need support. And, well, because you are no other than _Jean Kirstein_ himself and _nothing_ can be more interesting than you."

He couldn't help it. He had to stomp onto his lips once more and kiss him hard, as if it was the last time he did and not the third one. Something burning up inside, his hands going all over his body, his heart beating fast, his skin aching for a little touch, his mind clouded with desire and something else he could not tell. But everything, despite what it could look like, only wished for one single thing, and it was no other than _his_ freckled boy's lips. Nothing happened, nothing mattered, nothing but him and…

"Hey, Marco, one last question. You said you had freckles all over your body, right?"

"_All over_" he repeated, and then, an unusual sly slime flew on his lips "But you better take a look at it yourself"

…and the whole night they had forward to taste out what love felt like.


End file.
